The Mystery Megapack: 25 Modern and Classic Mystery Stories

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The Mystery Megapack: 25 Modern and Classic Mystery Stories Page 34

by Talley, Marcia


  Needless to say, Shannon showed up late, after the rest of us had things back in order. Wanda Wannabe had been sent off with a warning that she’d be ejected from the convention if she approached any more authors with her manuscript, and Ms. Byerly had been soothed with a Coke and the promise of a good seat at Bane’s talk. As for the lines, Pinky had people queued up like Catholic schoolchildren, and I’d been both too busy and too embarrassed to see how he’d managed it.

  Shannon didn’t even have the good grace to look winded. “What’s up?” she said.

  “Where the hell were you?”

  “I had to go to the bathroom. I was only gone a minute.”

  “Then how come I’ve been here for ten minutes, and the people here said there was nobody here when the session started twenty minutes ago? Why didn’t you tell somebody you were going to the bathroom? That’s what your walkie-talkie is for. And why didn’t you come when I called the Linus?”

  “I left my walkie-talkie in here.”

  I was furious. Not only had she been away from her post and out of contact, but she’d left an expensive, rented walkie-talkie unattended. If I’d had anybody to replace her with, I’d have fired her, but the convention was too far along to scrape up another volunteer. “Then since you’ve had your break, I don’t want you to leave this room again until one.”

  “What about the panels?”

  “I’ll take care of them.”

  “What about Bane’s talk? I want to work that.”

  I just glared at her, then turned to see Pinky shaking his head in disgust. I wasn’t sure if it was at Shannon, me, or both of us.

  The next disaster was right before Bane’s talk. It was scheduled for after lunch, which meant that most of the fans were skipping lunch so they could line up for good seats. While they waited under the watchful eyes of most of the redshirts, Bane was enjoying a private lunch with a few privileged members of the convention staff. Naturally, the invitation list for that lunch had caused more dissension than almost anything else during convention planning. I’d stayed out of it. Just being in the same room as Bane got me flustered—I could only imagine what would have happened if I’d tried to eat in front of him.

  Through my careful planning, Elliot and I both had the lunch hour free, and were headed for the hotel restaurant when we saw Pinky being confronted outside the door where the VIP lunch was being held.

  “Should we give him a hand?” Elliot asked.

  “He hasn’t called for backup,” I said.

  “I know, but that’s the woman Bane took to bed last night.”

  The woman in question was blonde, buxom, and swearing like a sailor. Since she’d been Bane’s Friday night conquest, I mentally tagged her Girl Friday.

  Elliot and I joined them, and I asked, “Anything wrong?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” Pinky replied, keeping his security guard face firmly in place.

  The woman appealed to me. “I’m supposed to go in there to meet Bane for lunch, but this fascist won’t let me in.”

  “It’s by invitation only,” Pinky said, “and she’s not on the list.”

  “Bane didn’t know me when the list was made,” the woman argued, “but when I asked him to meet me for lunch today, he said I could come if I wanted to.” Presumably realizing that wasn’t the most enthusiastic invitation, she bolstered her authority with, “It was early this morning—when we got up—so he probably forgot to add my name.”

  More likely he didn’t remember her name, I thought to myself. “Pinky, have you checked with Bane?”

  He gave me a look. “There’s no need to disturb Mr. Masters.”

  Since I knew there were twenty people already in there, I didn’t think one more would hurt, especially since it was a buffet. “I’ll go ask him.” But Pinky continued to block the door.

  “Don’t bother. Mr. Masters informed me that he doesn’t want to spend any further time with this woman.”

  “You’re lying!” Girl Friday shrieked. “Bane would never say that.”

  Pinky just stared at her.

  “You’re lying,” she said again, her voice cracking. Then her face crumpled, and she ran off down the hallway, sobbing like a woman betrayed by her idol.

  “Geez, Pinky,” Elliot said. “Do you think you could have said something to make her feel worse?”

  “I wouldn’t have said it if Regina hadn’t interfered.”

  “Regina is head of security,” Elliot snapped. “Doing her job is hardly interfering.”

  “Regina assigned me to Mr. Masters, and I’m meeting my obligations the best way I know how. If she wants me to step aside …”

  They both looked at me, finally acknowledging that I was right there, even though I wished I weren’t. “No, Pinky, you keep doing what you’re doing.”

  He nodded, mollified, and I started toward the restaurant, with Elliot close behind.

  “Who does he think he is?” Elliot wanted to know. “Why are you putting up with him?”

  “Because he knows what he’s doing,” I said, leaving unsaid the thought that maybe I didn’t.

  The rest of the afternoon went reasonably smoothly. We had to defuse a couple of arguments over seats at Bane’s talk, but the talk itself was a big success. The afternoon’s panels went fine, too, and a gap in programming at dinner time meant we redshirts could meet for pizza. Except for Pinky, of course, who was maintaining watch over his subject, and Shannon, who’d suddenly remembered she was in the costume contest and wouldn’t be helping with security for the night. By the time we’d eaten and planned the evening’s coverage, it was time for the masquerade.

  The first part of the costume contest went fine. Of course, getting the contestants into the right order was the masquerade staff’s headache, not ours, and the tech crew was in charge of setup, lights and sound. All we had to do was make sure nobody snuck into the ballroom early and when the time came, resolve the inevitable arguments over seats. After that, we got to relax and enjoy the show.

  Though I wasn’t all that happy with her, I loyally cheered for Shannon, who was dressed as a woods-dwelling sprite who’d lured Bane to her tree in Season Two. Or rather, undressed, because sprites wear fur bikinis with boots. At least Shannon could carry off the skimpy outfit, unlike some of the other contestants.

  Once the procession of werewolves, werewolf hunters, miscellaneous lycanthropes, and other Werewolf Hunter characters had paraded across the stage, the judges retired to deliberate while a band came on stage to perform “Werewolves of London,” “Bad Moon Rising,” and other appropriate songs.

  All the judges were supposed to go to the control room, which had been emptied for that purpose, but after they left, Pinky buzzed me on the walkie-talkie.

  “Regina? Pinky, in the main corridor with Mr. Masters, en route to his suite. He prefers to deliberate on his own, and will join the other judges later.”

  “He’s going to get a beer, isn’t he?” I said.

  I could hear laughter when Pinky keyed his walkie-talkie, and realized Bane had heard me. “Affirmative,” Pinky said dryly. In the background, I heard Bane say, “After looking at that lot, I deserve it!”

  Feeling like a complete idiot, I asked, “Do you need backup?”

  “Negative. The halls are clear.”

  “Good enough. Call me if you change locations.”

  “Roger.”

  Then I checked with Elliot, who’d accompanied the other judges. Since they hadn’t expected much input from Bane, they were perfectly willing to carry on without him.

  The band was followed by a demonstration of sword fighting, but despite the fighters’ best efforts, the crowd was fidgety. There was a constant flow of people going to the bathroom, or to grab a Coke from a machine, or just deciding they’d rather party now and find out who the winners were the next day.

  I knew the contestants had to be sweating bullets. Competition is always fierce, but the stakes this time were higher than usual. At the con’s closing ev
ent, Bane was going to act out a scene from the opening episode of Werewolf Hunter’s next season, and he’d promised to pick one of the contest winners to perform with him.

  About twenty-five minutes into the wait, my walkie-talkie buzzed again. “Regina, this is Pinky, outside Bane’s room.”

  “Go ahead, Pinky.”

  There was no response.

  “Pinky?”

  There was a burst of noise, which I later decided was from the button of the walkie-talkie hitting something, and a horrific yell.

  “Pinky!”

  Now there was nothing.

  “Linus! Outside Bane’s room!” I barked into my walkie-talkie. Then I ran as fast as I could, not knowing or caring who I ran into. Elliot, who was closer to Bane’s room, beat me there, and was at the bottom of the stairs leading toward the suite. When he heard me coming, he turned to stop me.

  “There’s nothing you can do, Regina.”

  Elliot was six foot something to my five foot four, but I pushed him out of the way just the same, and saw Pinky’s body at the foot of the stairs. I’d thought our shirts were blood red until I saw real blood staining his. His walkie-talkie lay on the sidewalk next to him.

  “There’s no pulse,” said Elliot, who was an EMT in real life. “He must have fallen just the right way to break his neck.”

  More like the wrong way, I thought.

  Shannon padded up behind me, still wearing her fur bikini and boots. The other redshirts came on her heels. “Andi,” I said, “get hotel security. Donna, call the cops.”

  Bane stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at Pinky, swearing fluently. I wondered what the fans would have thought if they’d heard him, because for the first time all weekend, he’d dropped his Aussie accent.

  The hotel’s security man got to the scene first, and, ignoring Elliot’s protests that Pinky was dead, insisted on checking himself, getting bloody in the process. Ted showed up, too, but just dithered uselessly.

  Eventually the cops arrived, followed by a doctor to examine Pinky’s body and take it away. The police were visibly tense at first, but then got more relaxed, and I realized that they’d decided Pinky’s death was an accident. But it didn’t seem right to me.

  Pinky had buzzed me to tell me he was on his way to Bane’s room, and presumably he’d gotten there without incident. So why had he buzzed me later? Why would he have been heading down the stairs? I mentioned my questions to the cops, but they figured he was going to get a drink or take a break, and was going to let me know. They didn’t understand that Pinky would never have left Bane’s door unattended, and didn’t think there was anything odd about him buzzing me just before he fell—one officer even suggested that he might not have fallen if he hadn’t been using the walkie-talkie.

  Bane was no help. “I should have let the bloke come into the room,” he said apologetically, the accent back in place, “but I was fagged out and wanted a minute alone. He didn’t seem to mind.”

  “Did you hear anything?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Not a sound. I was in the WC at first, and I had music playing. Poor bastard. Has he got any family or anything? I’d like to pay my respects.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I only met him yesterday. There wasn’t really time to get acquainted.” But that wasn’t true. One of the best things about a convention was the way you could go from stranger to close friend in just a weekend. But Pinky had been all business. Not to mention the fact that he’d intimidated the heck out of me, and annoyed me even more.

  “Bruce,” one of the cops said, Pinky’s wallet in his hand. “His first name was Bruce.”

  I hadn’t even known that.

  The cops didn’t stay long, and looking at the horrified faces of my team members, I realized I had to get them moving again. “Elliot, will you take Bane for the rest of the weekend?”

  He nodded.

  “Good. Ted, what’s the status on the masquerade?”

  “The judges are ready, but maybe we should cancel.”

  “No, Pinky would want us to go ahead.”

  “You’ve got to be joking,” Bane said.

  I glared at him. “Haven’t you ever heard ‘The show must go on?’”

  “Yeah, but—” He stopped. “Right. Let’s do it. But I want to say something about Pinky afterward.”

  “Good idea,” I said. I turned to the rest of my team. “Okay, the crowd is going to be restless. Our job is to keep things running as smoothly as possible. Andi, you and Donna roam the halls, make sure nobody’s been taking advantage of our absence. Everybody else will work the masquerade with me.”

  “Shouldn’t I go back backstage?” Shannon asked hesitantly. “I mean, I’m still in the contest. That’s where I was when you called the Linus.”

  I stifled a sigh. Clearly her job in security was secondary to a chance to act out a scene with Bane. At least she’d responded to the Linus this time. “Fine, we’ll handle it.”

  As I’d expected, most of the fans were milling around, spreading stories that had nothing to do with what had really happened. I heard half a dozen people who claimed to know the real story: everything from a drug bust to an orgy to a government crackdown to alien infiltration. We tried to reassure them and got people back into their seats as fast as possible. Once we had them situated, we brought in the judges, including Bane, and got the show moving.

  The judges dutifully announced the winners, including Shannon, who got an award for “Most Daring” for her scraps of fur. The way she rubbed against Bane when she accepted her ribbon made it plain she hoped to supplant Girl Friday.

  Once the awards were over with, Bane solemnly announced what had happened to Pinky, and said some kind words about him. I saw plenty of tears, but I also heard speculation about whether or not the death had really been an accident. I tried to tell myself that the idea was ridiculous, but it sounded all too believable.

  It wasn’t just the oddness of Pinky’s death, it was the faces around me. Granny Goodness actually looked glad when she realized that Pinky was the one who’d kept her away from Bane during the meet-and-greet. Wanda Wannabe was there with a satchel, and I’d have bet dollars to donuts that she had a copy of her manuscript with her, hoping to corner a writer in the bathroom. Then I saw Girl Friday, bawling loudly where Bane could see. As he left the stage, he took pity on her and let her sob on his shoulder. That wouldn’t have happened if Pinky had still been alive.

  I’d heard that when somebody’s been a cop for long enough, everybody starts to look guilty. Now I understood what they meant, because suddenly it seemed as if anybody in that room could have pushed Pinky down those stairs. If it hadn’t been for the walkie-talkie in my hand, offering me instant aid from the rest of the redshirts, I think I’d have run screaming from the room. No wonder Pinky had been so attached to his. For one morbid moment, I considered suggesting that the walkie-talkie be buried with him, which led to the even more morbid idea of him sending me a message from the grave.

  Then something occurred to me, almost as if Pinky had sent me one last message.

  Though the plan had been for Bane to choose the person who’d be acting out the scene with him at the end of the costume contest, under the circumstances, it had been forgotten, and I heard people muttering about it. That gave me the idea about what to do next.

  I buzzed Elliot, and told him to take Bane someplace where I could talk to him privately. Then I buzzed Ted, and told him to announce that Bane would be picking somebody momentarily. Both of them sounded taken aback, but they didn’t argue.

  Leaving the rest of my team to keep watch, I went backstage, which was mostly empty now that the masquerade was over. I was happy to see that Elliot had managed to detach Girl Friday, so he was the only one who heard me tell Bane what I had in mind. For once, I forgot that Bane was a celebrity and the most handsome man I’d ever met. From that point on, he was just another member of my team. I told him what I wanted, and why, and made it plain that I expected him
to agree. He did.

  I buzzed Ted again, told him Bane was ready, and listened as he told the same to the waiting throng. There was a hush when Bane stepped on stage, and I could practically hear fingers crossing.

  “I know the timing is awkward,” Bane said in that delectable accent, “but a lot of people have come a long way to hear tomorrow’s program, and it’s fair dinkum that Pinky wouldn’t have wanted them to be disappointed.”

  There were enthusiastic sounds of approval.

  “Now I’m hoping one particular sheila will be willing to share the stage with me.” Now there were shrieks, giggles, and more than one shout along the lines of “Pick me!” Bane, who was an actor after all, paused dramatically. Then he named his choice. “Come on up here, luv.”

  There was a delighted shout, and scattered applause as Bane’s leading lady accepted his invitation. From the catcalls that followed, I think there was physical contact between them, too.

  Still playing to the audience, Bane said, “Of course, we’re going to need to rehearse, and tomorrow morning is pretty well booked. Do you think you can spare me some time now to go over the scene? We could work in my room.”

  There were even louder catcalls, and I didn’t need to hear the woman’s answer to know she’d agreed. That was my cue to get in position and make the last arrangements.

  I’d told Elliot not to rush, so I had plenty of time to get to Bane’s room. Too much, in fact, because I had time to reconsider what I was doing. Twice I reached for my walkie-talkie, ready to call the whole thing off, but then the door opened, and Elliot escorted Bane in. Along with Shannon.

  She was nestled under the actor’s arm, looking at him so lustfully that it took a while for her to notice I was there, long enough for Elliot to close and lock the door. When I’d told Elliot he didn’t have to stay, he’d insisted strongly enough to make me think it was more than professional loyalty, but it was the wrong time to think of that.

 

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